


Bullshit Crossovers I'm Not Writing

by Slybrarian



Category: BattleTech, Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who (2005), Farscape, Generation Kill, Star Trek, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-13 09:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17485676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slybrarian/pseuds/Slybrarian
Summary: But if I were writing crossovers for these fandoms, this is what they would look like. Featuring:A fandom with even more disgusting fluids than Generation Kill! Also, muppets.Brad's fursona!Time and relative dimensions in space!The other Captain America!Stormtroopers!Rock-em Sock-em Robots!Some sort of trek through the stars!





	1. What This Fandom Needs Is More Bodily Fluids

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to clear my head of extra plot bunnies to focus on things that will actually be written. Look, February is apparently shitposting month, roll with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nate gets shot through a wormhole and encounters strange, alien creatures. Like Ray.

"Canaveral, this is Bravo Two. Do you read… me?" Nate said. Peering out the cockpit, he realized that Earth wasn't there at all. He wasn't just on the night side, as he'd briefly assumed. There was just no planet anywhere to be found, only a small scattering of what looked like asteroids.

"Okay, so this could be problematic," he said to himself. Moments later something flashed past the canopy, followed moments later by a sudden impact that sent his module spinning. He got the tumble under control just in time to see another ship slam into one of the rocks. There was no time to even try to grapple with that, because the module drifted past another asteroid and suddenly jerked into motion.

"I don't know if anyone can hear me or will find the flight recorder, but I'm going to keep talking. There's another ship out here with me. Huge. It's hard to say how large with nothing to compare to, but it's got to be hundreds of meters long. Lots of curves, except for a boxy structure up front. Uh. There's other, smaller ships shooting at it. There's some kind of invisible force pulling me inside." 

Nate's module was pulled through an arching entryway and into a long bay lined with platforms and bus-sized craft. He flipped the landing gear on as the force - let's face it, a tractor beam - dropped him into a bay at the far end. A door closed behind him and there was a hissing noise as it pressurized. 

"I'm going to exit the ship and take a look around." Nate popped the canopy and climbed out, careful not to touch the cold exterior with bare skin. There was a nasty gouge in his port wing; a few inches to the side and it could have been taken off entirely. 

When he turned around, there was a small yellow robot wheeling across the floor, about the size of two roombas stacked on top of each other. It had a pair of lit googly eyes on stalks and a little arm sticking out the front with a tool attached. It used the latter to tase him in the foot.

"Fuck!" It tased him again. He would have kicked it, but a couple more had rolled up. They made scooting motions toward a door leading further into the ship. Nate held up his hands. "Fine, I get it. Lead the way."

The robots lead him through a maze of twisting corridors. Eventually they reached a room with a broad window and a number of what must be control consoles. There were several people standing around them: a woman with blue skin, a… person with long tentacles around their head and chin, and a normal-looking if skinny man with black hair and leather pants. There was a lot of yelling in languages Nate didn't understand, probably to do with the fighter ships whizzing around out the window.

"Hi?" Nate said. The man babbled at him. "I have no idea what you just said."

The man frowned and stalked over, yammering a long run-on sentence of gibberish. He shook Nate's shoulder in emphasis. 

"Still no idea." The ship shook from an impact, and as Nate tried to remain steady a robot rolled up and jabbed a needle straight through his boot. He yelped and jumped back, running into the other man. "What the hell was that?" 

The man threw up his hands. "Nesse uvas, mallicotti benes vortas and I can't believe I am having to explain frelling translator microbes to someone. What sort of backwater dirtball are you even from? Actually, never mind. Who are you?"

"My name's Nate. Nate Fick."

"I'm Ray. What did you use to shoot down that prowler? I didn't detect any weapons on your ship."

"Weapons? It's a test module, why would it have weapons? That other ship ran into me and then hit one of the rocks."

"It ran into you," Ray repeated. "That's just frelling typical. Pilot, I need those numbers!"

Another alien appeared on a small, fuzzy display. "We are calculating as quickly as we can, Corporal Person. If you think you can do better, by all means, break the code lock yourself."

Ray pulled a knife from a sheath on his leather pants and went to join the tentacle dude. "We'll try this the old-fashioned way."

Nate started to follow, but he was nearly smacked in the face by something that went zipping past. It was some sort of Yoda-like creature on a chair. Which flew, as chairs apparently did around here. Nate was starting to wonder if he was actually hypoxic or something.

"I checked every tier," it said. "We're the only ones aboard. What's this, another Sebacean? I say one was too many as it was."

"Hi. I'm Nate. I'm a human from Earth, not whatever you just called me."

"And I'm Rygel XVI, dominar of Hyneria, ruler of over six hundred billion people."

"Could you explain what's going on?"

Rygel scowled. "I don't answer questions from the likes of you."

In the background, Ray crowed in triumph. "That did it! Pilot, starburst as soon as the collar's clear!"

The ship shuddered and shook a few more times, then blue light filled the viewport. It went on for a minute until finally the stars returned. The four aliens - five, counting the thing on the holographic display - all started talking to each other at once, none of them paying any attention to Nate. 

"I think I've been really patient," Nate said, "so would someone - ow, fuck!" The tentacle dude had flicked out his tongue like a frog and jabbed Nate in the neck. "What is wrong with you people?" he said, then fell over.

When he woke up, he was in a cell, naked except for his boxers. He sat up woozily, trying to survey his surroundings, and after a moment he realized he wasn't alone. There was another man, blond, tall, and well-built, skulking in one corner.

"Hello?" Nate said. "I'm Nate Fick. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Moments later he was being punched, kicked, and thrown around the cell. By the time his long-past training started to kick in, it was too late. He was pinned to the floor, his arms held under the guy's shins as he straddled Nate's face, giving him an up close and personal view of his thick thighs and briefs that did little to conceal the package inside. If he hadn't gotten enough proof the universe hated him, the fact that he was getting turned on sealed the deal.

"Rank and regiment," the man demanded. 

"Get the fuck off!"

"Rank. And. Regiment."

"Captain, First Reconnaissance Battalion. Or I was, until I became a test pilot." Go back to school, Mom said. Be an astronaut like your dad, Mom said. 

"Huh. Sergeant Brad Colbert, Pleisar Regiment, Icarion Company."

"Brad Colbert? What kind of name is Brad Colbert?" Nate demanded. Why the fuck would an alien have such a normal name?

"It's traditional on my planet," Brad huffed. "It's not my fault whoever named me was old-fashioned."

"Good for you. Will you get the fuck off me?"

"You have a very dirty mouth, sir." Brad rolled to the side. "Did the prisoners hurt you?"

"Prisoners?" Nate repeated.

"Yeah. This is a prison ship. I don't suppose you've seen a tech running around, have you? Short, doesn't stop talking? I hope they haven't eaten him or something. He owes me money."

"I should stayed in the Marines," Nate muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Nate began his descent into Australia's BDSM scene. I mean the Uncharted Territories.


	2. Time and Relative Dimensions in Eye-Fucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where there's a Time Lord, but not that one.

"You know," said the mystery man with the captain's bars and the last-gen digicam uniform, "it's a good thing I'm not the Doctor, because she'd be super pissed right now."

"Excuse me?" Brad replied. He cautiously poked the snake man laying in the desert sand with his foot. It didn't react, which was good, given that Brad had emptied an entire mag into it. There hadn't been any snake men the first time he was in Iraq. The officers hadn't been as cute, either.

"She's got this thing about guns. I'm assured he wasn't always so uptight about them, but after the war, well." The man pulled a pen out of one of his pockets and poked the snake man and its various spilled fluids and ichor with it. "Interesting. Definitely not Silurian, but in that case, what is it?"

A scrawny, dark-haired man came running over the nearby ridgeline, dressed in a v-neck shirt and jeans entirely inappropriate for the environment. "Hey LT! You better watch out, I think one of the snake guys is - oh." 

"Ray, this is Staff Sergeant Colbert. Sorry, I don't think I got your first name."

"Brad."

"Brad, this is Ray Person. You'll like him, he's a Marine too. I picked him up back on Okinawa. They had a bit of a mutant sea bass problem."

"Yeah, the LT really saved my bacon. Nice to meet you. Cool rifle you have there, is it an automatic?"

"Captain, Ray," the captain said. "I'm calling myself the Captain now. I didn't realize quite how little regard there is for lieutenants. People take captains more seriously, but it's still not too pretentious."

"That's your name?" Brad asked. "Just 'The Captain'?"

"I told him he could be, like, Captain America," Ray said. "Or Captain Gallifrey, since he won't let me punch Hitler."

"Renegades call themselves by titles like that. It's part of the style," the captain said with an adorable little frown. "Should I have another name? Would it make people feel more comfortable?"

"It would," Ray said. "Calling you just 'Captain' all the time is going to give me a fetish." To Brad, he added, "Here in the future you can say that sort of thing. It's great."

"Nate," Brad said suddenly, and if he had a reason he couldn't put a finger on it. "You look like a Nate to me."

"Nate," he replied, saying it carefully like he was tasting it. "I like that."

"I have to ask, sir, do you have a clue what you're doing? Because to me it looks like you're running aimlessly around a desert trying to get eaten by giant snake people."

"I'll admit, this is proving a bit more difficult than I first anticipated," Nate replied. "I may have left the academy a little earlier than usual, and not exactly in an approved manner."

"He stole his time machine," Ray said, pointing at a distant humvee. 

"Time-space machine. But yes. I know it doesn't look like much, but it's -"

"Don't say it, LT. Let him see for himself."

Nate grinned. "Of course. Come on, Brad, let's get this sample to the lab and maybe we can find the rest of the nest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then the Captain takes them on space-time adventures, and at some point they run into the Doctor who is indeed very cross about the guns.


	3. Unconquered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nate's a Zenith-caste Solar Exalt.

If Second Platoon didn't move, it would die.

Second Platoon couldn't move. Stuck as they were, surrounded on multiple sides and no one able to communicate over the sound and fury of weapons firing, there was no way to coordinate a fighting withdrawal. Pulling out piecemeal, each victor on its own, would surely leave the last one or two overwhelmed and cut to pieces. No one would save themselves and let that happen. Either they'd all go or they'd all die.

Nate left his truck and started running. 

He got five pointed the right direction, ready to move, and Mike doing a three-point turn. As he approached three he saw an M-16 sweep his way, dropping at the last instant as some recognition got through. He screamed his orders, moved on, and saw the bullet coming straight for him. It didn't matter. Three was turning, he could see Espera looking at him and recognizing his intent; even when he dropped they'd get free.

Time stopped. 

"Fear not, Nathaniel," a voice boomed, rich and warm and welcoming.

The sun was shining over head at noonday zenith. He blinked, and it was a man, four arms spread wide, holding a spear, a shield, a horn, and a laurel crown. "I'm not afraid," he told it. 

"Not for yourself. I know not where you are, nor how this power has found you. Perhaps even in this age there are still mysteries left in Creation. I know your heart, though; see the dreams within it in all their hopeful wonder. I say this to you: never let that hope die. Never allow yourself to be told that you cannot be better, and in doing so make those around you better still. Go forth and change the world, and know you do so in the light of the Unconquered Sun."

The world moved again, as did the bullet, and Nate's hand. He looked in wonder at that tiny bit of metal, caught between two fingers an inch from his eye. He followed its path back to where an RPG team was loading, raised his rifle with his other hand, and fired twice. The men fell back, bloody third eyes open in their forehead. 

The chaos of battle resumed, lit now not by the flash of guns and grenades but by a glorious bonfire of gold and white that rose above the berm. In that maelstrom there was a new order as well, a unity of thought and purpose. There was perfect coordination and communication, none of the confusion there had been before. The entire row of vehicles turned simultaneously, and every man in them kept shooting with lethal precision and efficiency, no target around them hit more than once. As the victors took off, Nate made a running leap and landed in the back of his truck along with Stafford and Christeson.

In the shadows past the light, something dark and furious moved, snatching men from cover and tearing them asunder with terrible teeth and claws. 

A few minutes of high-speed driving later, the platoon was safely parked behind the rest of the company. Nate did a head count, checking each victor in turn and pausing a little longer reassure Pappy he'd be fine, and had to count again. There was a man missing, and for a moment all the furious confidence he'd felt flickered and dimmed. Then Brad stepped out of the darkness behind the truck, not his own victor but Nate's. There were dark stains on his uniform and a little flickering disc of silver light was visible on his forehead even with his helmet on.

"Sergeant," Nate said. 

"Lieutenant."

"Strange night, isn't it?"

"You are a master of understatement, sir."

"I try." Nate glanced around the teeming mass of men. He doesn't have time to chat. He really should be out there getting things done, even if Mike had things well in hand. "Here's another one: I want to fuck you 'til you scream. Sadly, I need to go be responsible."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Nate?" a man called. Of course Schwetje would ruin the moment. "What the hell is going on?"

Brad smiled, the barest hint of too-long teeth showing, and without even looking at him said, "Fuck off."

"I should fuck off." Encino Man meandered back toward his own victor.

"On second thought," Nate said, "two minutes for blowjobs won't hurt anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then the chain of command got whammied with Solar and Lunar social charms, which technically aren't mind control except the ones that are. Also Brad is a terrifying argent witch and/or giant puppy.


	4. Captain Fucking America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nate and Ray have super powers.

"I always knew Captain America was going to be the death of me," Ray shouted over the gunfire while he and Nate crouched behind a concrete planter. 

"Not the time, Ray," Nate replied. He really wished he had his M4. The Glock in his hands wasn't ideal for shooting across the Triskelion's giant-ass atriums and courtyards. Superpowers that were a little more offensively impressive might also be helpful.

"I should have stayed in Missouri!"

Nate rolled his eyes. "You hated Missouri."

"At least there were no Nazis!" Ray paused. "Well, okay, there probably were Nazis, but I didn't work with them."

Nate peeked over the planter. Were those even Nazis, or could they just be fellow agents confused about - no, they just shot Phyllis from Accounting, definitely Nazis. "I'll admit, this career choice is looking a bit dubious."

"Dubious. Dubious! There are fucking Nazis trying murder us all, and he says it's dubious! Do you know what's dubious, Nate? The choice of a certain dumbfuck officer to take his men on a field trip to the ruins Babylon in the middle of a fucking war."

Something exploded out on the airfield to punctuate the remark. 

"Dubious is deciding to stay in the Marine Corps even after said ruins gave you superpowers. We could really use the Iceman right now, but is he here? No. He's off being buddies with fucking War Machine while we have to fight actual fucking Nazis with nothing more than a nine mil." Ray made an angry gesture and a STRIKE agent's head exploded.

"And mind bullets."

"Well, that too. I'll admit, telekinesis is pretty dope."

Nate tapped Ray on the shoulder and waved him toward a corridor that would lead them down toward the helicarrier hangars. A couple of the remaining HYDRA agents shot at them as they sprinted towards it, but one had his gun jam and explode in his face, and the other bullets all improbably went wide. Nate fired a wild shot at the last agent, and even though he missed the bullet ricocheted off the wall and hit the wire holding up one of the light fixtures, causing it to fall on the woman's head. The entire process was an affront to Nate's warrior spirit. 

"So where was I?" Ray said. "Right. Captain America. Six feet and like four hundred pounds of bad decisions."

They ran around a corner and Ray smacked straight into Captain America's chest, bouncing off and only avoiding a fall because the captain grabbed him by the shirt. 

"Gentlemen," Captain America said, letting Ray go.

"You have terrible fucking timing," Ray said. "Couldn't you have figured out this conspiracy bullshit last week while I was on vacation?"

"Ray, stop sassing Captain America," Nate said, in a tone that implied he'd best obey if he ever wanted to get laid again. "Orders, sir?"

If Rogers was phased by the antics, he didn't show it. "I don't suppose either of you can knock down a helicarrier?"

"Oh, sure, I've just been waiting this entire time so I could show off," Ray said. "God, is every Captain America a retard?"

"You know," Nate said slowly, "if we got up onto one, I bet between the two of us we could really fuck it up."

"Then follow me."

Because they were brave idiots, they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Nate's new luck powers make Bucky break out of it a little sooner, the entirety of Civil War never happens, and no one gets snappened. Brad is very embarrassed to have missed the action.


	5. Generation Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the boys serve a different hegemonic, high-tech superpower.

Brad found the lieutenant in a bar not far off base. Not far was too far, in his opinion. Even in a nice, safe city like Oceanside, on a nice, loyal world like Vardos, this was not the time for a lone Imperial officer to be wandering around. At least he didn't look the part once you stripped off the uniform. So to speak. Brad didn't think of the lieutenant stripping, obviously. 

"Sergeant," Nate said when he slid into the dark booth across from him. It was a decent spot, good sight lines, far away from the so-called band that was screeching out some horrid COMPNOR-approved Kuati rap. "I see you found my note."

"I did, sir," Brad said. The lieutenant already had a glass of something green in front of him, along with a second he slid over to Brad. There was a third, empty glass at the end of the table. "It was very vague and mysterious."

"Godfather has alerted me that there's going to be an mission next week," Nate said. "Apparently Admiral Versio is very keen on forming a new special forces unit in light of the recent Death Star debacle. Godfather is likewise keen on there being recon troopers on that team. He sees this as an opportunity to impress the admiral and has selected me to lead it."

"I suppose it's good to recognized for once," Brad said. This should be a celebration. It didn't feel like one. "What sort of op?"

"Technology retrieval from a secret research base with suspected terrorist affiliation. Quiet, in and out, just long enough to copy data and plant charges. Not even a full platoon." Nate downed a sizeable part of his drink. "I'm not doing it. I'm not doing anything for them again."

"Sir? Are you resigning?"

"No. I'm going to go on the mission, and not come back. I plan to walk in, alert the Rebels they've been compromised, and defect."

Suddenly Brad thought the bar was much too close to base. Fortunately it was loud and raucous, with the music drowning out any possible listening devices. He leaned in close.

"Sir, you know what they do to stormtroopers they capture."

Nate looked at him. "I know what command tells us they do to stormtroopers."

"You definitely know what the Empire does to deserters."

"What's the point of surviving," Nate said, "if you let them kill your soul?"

"I know the last few missions have been hard, sir. But we're just the tip of the spear. We don't have the big picture."

"Can you think of anything that could justify Alderaan?" He looked away for a moment, not an experienced officer but a sandy-haired boy from Chandrilla, and when he continued he was almost too quiet to hear. "I want you to come with me."

"Of course, Nate." What else could Brad reply? "We'll have to be very selective about who else comes on the mission if we want to do this without bloodshed. We all like you, sir, but not everyone would take this idea well. Person to pilot the ship, of course."

"Sergeant Espera. Her husband disappeared back on Correllia after martial law was declared. She thinks it was ISB."

"Hasser. Maybe your boys."

"No one with dependents. If we're careful, we can fake our deaths, keep the heat off our families. I think I have a plan that'll work."

Brad smiled ever so slightly. "I have absolute confidence in you, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they do rebel stuff with Hera and Sabine. Ray is force sensitive and drives Ahsoka mad as she tries to train him, to the amusement of several generations of force ghosts.


	6. Fick's Falconers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they're mechwarriors instead of Marines.

_"Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. Battlemech operational."_

"Thanks, computer," Ray said. He looked over his shoulder at where the Reporter was being strapped into the rumble seat by his lead tech. "I always like to be polite to my machines. I figure it's the least I can do if I'm going to drive them out to be shot up by a bunch of Capellan fucks."

"That's, uh, interesting?"

"Comms check," Brad said over the radio. "Second lance, sound off."

"Bravo Two-Two, checking in," Ray replied. "Reporter, I've got you hooked into lance, company, and battalion feeds. Panel to your left to switch them on and off. Don't worry about too many people hearing your girly screams, I've got it set to transmit to lance only."

"Don't be mean to the reporter, Ray," Brad said.

Sally gave Ray a thumbs up and pulled out of the cockpit, sealing the hatch behind her. He waited for the gantry to retract and then stepped away, his Phoenix Hawk following Trombley's Wolverine down the ramp and out into wide space of burned-down jungle that surrounded the dropship. He glanced back again and saw the reporter fiddling with the feed lines for his borrowed cooling vest, trying to tuck them out of the way.

"Be careful with that. The LT paid a bajillion C-bills to get us all high-end gear so we wouldn't be riding naked like half the dumbfuck mechwarriors out there. If you break it, Wynn'll take it out of your hide." 

"Why do you call Commander Fick the LT?"

"Because I knew him before he inherited all these mechs and became commander lord sir count muckity-muck."

"You were with him in the Devil Dogs?"

Ray waggled his hand. "Not exactly. We kind of met under, let's say, unusual circumstances."

"Ray was a pirate and Fick caught him," Walt said. "He sold his ass for his freedom."

Ray did his best to flip him off with his mech's free hand. "Hey! I was a legitimate MRB-listed mercenary, hired to take part in a legitimate raid out of Astrokazy. With that said, if the LT hadn't talked me into surrendering, I'd probably be swinging from a yardarm by now."

And seriously, fuck Mason Garrilac. Running around calling yourself Lord Commander didn't make you more legit than some poor hick from New Kansas. The eyepatch was kind of classy though.

"What's a yardarm?" Trombley asked. 

"Fuck if I know. Part of a jumpship, maybe? Brad says it's what you're supposed to hang pirates from. You got me on how that works in zero-g."

"Central, Bravo Two," Brad said. "Now exiting camp perimeter. Estimate one-five minutes until we reach those magnetic anomalies."

"Bravo Two, Falconer Actual," the LT replied. "Good hunting, Brad."

"So yeah, Nate let me sleep on his couch for a while," Ray continued, ignoring Walt's muttered "bunk". "Then he inherited all these mechs from his great-uncle McEvedy or something and set up his own battalion. Now I'm riding this shiny beauty instead of that crappy old Firestarter. She's practically vintage Star League, I have no idea where they found it."

"That's kind of unusual, isn't it?" Reporter asked. "Most new companies are, well, companies. Or single lances."

"Well, we're not exactly Wolf's Dragoons, but we are unique snowflakes in our own way. There's actually quite a bit more back in storage still, but we need to recruit to fill out the unit. Brad may have gone to the Nagelring like the Teutonic bastard he is, but for the most part pickings are kind of slim out this way."

"This is our first big op against someone other than pirates," Brad put in. "It's a good chance to get our name out there, which is one reason the commander invited you along. Don't take this the wrong way, but this new war's good for business."

"Seems kind of a shame," Reporter said. "The first Sphere-wide peace in centuries, and after a few years the first thing the new Federated Commonwealth does is start another one?"

"Trust me," Walt said quietly, "the Capellans deserve it."

"So my theory is that war is all about pussy," Ray said before things could get too morose. "Stefan Amaris? Jealous about all the pussy the Camerons were getting. The Succession Wars? Ditto, everyone wanted to take their place as chief pussy-getter of the Star League. And now of course, this entire new war is all about Hanse Davion desperately wanting to get into Melissa Steiner's sweet, barely-legal pussy, to the point of apparently offering her the entire fucking Capellan Confederation as a wedding gift to seal the deal."

"Sergeant," Trombley said, "make him stop talking about the Archon-Designate like that."

"Ray, please stop offending our employers."

"Hey, I'm not saying anything bad about her. Refusing to put out until your fiance has eliminated a rival claimant is a baller move. The universe would be a better place if more women held out for, like, at least a planet or two."

"The universe would be better if your mom had held out," Walt replied.

"So I have to ask," Reporter said, "why am I riding with him and not someone who isn't going to need censored in half the Sphere?"

"He has a passenger chair," Brad replied. 

"Yeah, I've got the only actual two-seater in the battalion, except the LT's Black Knight, and he's too busy to deal with you. This used to be a command mech for some bigshot who wanted to cart around their secretary or boytoy or something. Now, you could still ride with Brad or Walt or even Trombley, Blake help you, but when we get in combat it wouldn't be much fun. Their rumble seats are just fold-downs without nearly enough padding and straps."

"Also you'd catch fire if we had to eject," Trombley added, the psycho. 

"Right," Ray said. "If you were sitting in one and someone had to punch out, you'd be left behind while the ejection rocket went off right next to your legs. And then presumably the mech would explode or whatever."

A glint of metal in the trees made him hit his jump jets, moments before the sensors all started screaming about a reactor startup. A brilliant blue PPC shot went through the space they'd been in, and Reporter yelped as a couple LRMs pinged against the right armor. 

"Bravo Two-Two, contact right," Ray called out, returning fire with his large laser. "Looks like a Vindicator and a couple bug mechs." He looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Better hope those straps are tight, homes, because the fun's about to start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they fought the Fourth Succession War. For the record, Brad's in a Shadow Hawk with the SRM-2 replaced by another medium laser, Walt's rocking a Griffin, Trombley has a WVR-6M, and Ray's PH looks suspiciously like a modified Royal PHX-1b. Nate naturally has a Black Knight, which is absolutely not boasting endo-steel and an ER-PPC.
> 
> Also, New Kansas is a real planet. It's where a mercenary named Dorothy Gale is from. Don't blame me, the people at FASA were smoking something back in the 80s.


	7. Where No Marine Has Gone Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one set after Disco Season 1.

"Lieutenant Fick, thank you for joining me," Admiral Cornwell said as her aide ushered him into her office. "I hope your leave went well?"

Nate nodded stiffly. "Yes, ma'am. I was visiting family on Earth. It was nice to see them."

"That's what a lot of people have been telling me. Hopefully once everything's in motion I'll have a chance myself." She folded her hands on her desk. "I called you here to talk about your future with Starfleet."

"There's really not much to say, ma'am. I intend to resign my commission." To do what, he wasn't sure yet, but 'not this' was enough for now.

"So I've heard. I'm a bit surprised. Captain Eckloff and Commander Patterson both spoke very highly of you. First Reconnaissance was instrumental in the success of a number of operations, both defensive and offensive, and you were a key part of that."

"I am assured of this, ma'am. But it's not what I signed up for."

"None of us signed up for a war, lieutenant. I was a psychiatrist by training, until I switched to command track. But the defense of the Federation has always been a key part of Starfleet's mission, even if it's not our day-to-day focus. A Starfleet Commando knows that better than most."

"And I've done my part. It's time to move on."

She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. Eventually she sighed. "I'm afraid I can't accept your resignation yet, Lt. Fick."

Nate steeled himself against the twisting feeling in his gut. "Ma'am? I wasn't aware that was an option."

"You made a five-year commitment when you finished OCS. You have just over twelve standard months left. Starfleet regulations allow us to hold you to that. You can appeal, of course, but the Federation remains under a state of emergency and until that lapses we could keep you even if you'd passed your five."

"I see." Nate wanted to yell. Yelling was unproductive and, as Brad would tell him with a sly smile, illogical under these circumstances, so he didn't. 

Cornwell slid him a PADD. "You have two options. First is a training position. Rebuilding Recon and other specialized security units is a high priority. I think you would do well as an instructor. Most likely you'd be based out of Commando School in Aberdeen."

Teaching seemed better than continued front-line duty, but only marginally so at best. Leading men and women to their deaths had been hard; training kids and sending them off seemed like it might be worse. "And the other?"

"Chief of security aboard the starship _Avenger_. Wildcat-class frigate, five hundred crew under Captain Rogers. She'll be assigned around the spin-core border, around the northern part of the border region. The primary mission is to aid in recovery efforts, protect against Klingon raiders refusing to acknowledge the cease fire order, and continue surveying the frontier in that area. A first responder and troubleshooter, essentially."

"I don't have space combat experience, ma'am."

"And this is how you'll get it. We need officers like you to help rebuild Starfleet and restore civil functions in the former conflict zone. You helped win the war. Now help win the peace."

Nate slowly shook his head. He wasn't sure he even remembered what peace looked like. "I don't know if I can do that, ma'am."

"Still not what you expected joining Starfleet, is it? Let me sweeten the pot. The Federation Council is adamant that Starfleet resume exploration activities as soon as possible. That includes deep space missions. Give me this year, and I swear that you'll get five more on one of those - one of the big names: Enterprise, Defiant, Constellation."

"I don't need a bribe, ma'am," Nate said, crossing his arms. He glanced down at the PADD, then reluctantly picked it up. He'd joined Recon for the challenge it offered, but it had always been a step towards the real goal of an exploration ship. It had been a dream for so long it was hard to think of it as reality, not after a year of fire and nightmares made flesh. It wasn't just him his decisions affected anymore, either. "The security complement on a ship that size is too small for the job you're describing, unless they're the best. If I accept - if - I want right of first offer for my men."

She smiled. "Consider it done."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a day or two to consider my options."

"Of course. Take your time, there's no rush," Cornwell replied, and they both knew that an admiral's 'no rush' was a lieutenant's 'on the double'. She was just polite enough not to force the issue. "Contact my yeoman if you have any questions."

Nate took the PADD with him when she dismissed him and made his way through the plushly appointed halls of the admiralty level to the lift. As he emerged into the lobby and headed for the tram station, a pair of shadows detached themselves from a secluded spot behind one of the ornamental trees. By the time he reached the door, he was flanked by a pair of bodyguards in security red.

"There's no need to stalk me, gentlemen," Nate said as they exited the building. "Or to provide me a close protection detail in San Francisco."

"Dangerous planet, Earth," Brad said. "I've never trusted it."

"Come on, Brad," Ray replied. "It's not all as terrible as Missouri."

"I've been in Orion whorehouses safer than your radioactive excuse for a province. What's the news, sir?"

Nate changed course, away from the trams and toward one of the walking paths leading down to the bay shore. "I can't resign. Starfleet's keeping me another year."

"Regulation 13982?"

"Yeah, one of the 13-98s," Nate said, racking his brain to remember which one that even was. One of the reserve reactivation or conscription clauses, the sort of thing even Professor T'fel had skimmed over in legal training because no one ever used it. "She gave me two offers I couldn't refuse. First one's teaching baby commandos."

"I suppose England's not that bad," Ray said after a few moments.

Brad sighed. "Scotland, Ray. How many times do you have to narrowly avoid an asskicking to learn?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. He wouldn't have to actually live on that part of the island. He could commute from anywhere in Europe."

"You could do worse than trying to impart wisdom on snot-nosed brats," Brad said. "Reliable work hours. Comfortable climate. Regular trips on- and off-world for training, but on a scheduled basis."

"That's all true," Ray agreed, "but can you imagine the sort of crazy fucks who want to go commando after all this Klingon shit? Nothing but psycho killers for years."

"Sounds like they could use a responsible adult." Brad smirked every so slightly. "Assuming they'd believe he is one."

"You should have let Doc leave a scar from that bat'leth strike," Ray said. "People respect a good scar."

"I can't agree. Ruining that skin would be a crime."

Involuntarily, Nate glanced over at Ray. It wasn't obvious, but if you knew what to look for you could spot the low-profile prosthetic at his temple, and up close the slight difference in eye color was noticeable. "I liked you guys better when you at least pretended to respect officers."

"So what's the other option?" Brad asked.

"Ship duty." Nate handed the PADD over.

"Department head on a starship," Brad said with a low whistle as he scrolled through the posting. "Not an old clunker, either, practically straight off the assembly line."

"Try not to drool on the equipment."

"I know upstanding officers in our peace-loving fleet would never kill each other over a position," Brad continued, "but they might maim someone for this one."

Ray reached across Nate to snatch the PADD out of Brad's hands. "So do you want to take it?

"I don't know," Nate replied.

"You don't know?" Ray repeated. "Your entire thing is knowing what to do, LT. What will us poor ratings do without your wisdom and guidance?"

"Fine. I know what I want, but I want more than one thing and I don't know if they fit together."

They kept walking for a few more minutes in silence, until they eventually reached the shore and settled on a bench. In the distance sailboats were gliding toward the bridge, and several enterprising gulls were hopping closer and closer in search of a snack. Finally Brad said, "It'd be interesting. Certainly a new experience. Explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and non-lethally subdue it."

"Signals equipment on a Wildcat's pretty fucking fantastic," Ray mused, still calling up specs. "And look at the size of those big, bulging computer cores."

"I can't ask you to leave home again. Not for my sake," Nate said. There was no question about Brad; he'd never had any doubts about continuing his career. Doing it on a starship instead of a recon unit wouldn't change much. Ray was the one who'd been planning to get out with Nate and possibly working on a degree. "The teaching job would be fine."

"Yeah, well, fuck fine," Ray said without any heat. "I might occasionally slack off and be mediocre, but you two weren't meant for just 'fine'."

"It looks like the ship's based out of Starbase 11," Brad offered. "The planet it's on is supposed to be pretty nice. Reasonably large population, great beaches, a good university."

"Because I'm definitely going to do the dependent thing," Ray scoffed. "Maybe I can join one of the service spouse groups, throw a few gametes into an exowomb, and see how many screaming brats I can greet you with when you get leave. Sounds fun for everyone."

"Ray," Nate said, only to be cut off before he could even figure out what to add.

"This is a good opportunity for you," Ray said. "And since I'm not letting you leave me behind or turn it down, you can just keep quiet about whatever your next objection is. I dragged your bleeding ass halfway across Narendra III, I think I can cope with a climate-controlled starship and all the food and processing power I could ever want."

Nate looked at Brad, hoping for some backup, but he just shrugged. "I'm not going to argue with either of you, sir, so I'll just stick with reminding you how stubborn he gets."

"Do I need to mention the cave full of worms? Or that it was a high-gravity world?"

"1.1 gee isn't high."

"Fine. You win. _Avenger_ it is," Nate said. Brad was right. Arguing was a waste of time that could be spent on better things. Nate couldn't blame Ray for wanting to stick together, not really, because the part of Nate that wanted him safe on Earth was eclipsed by the part that wanted him close at hand. Lose enough people and you clung to the ones you saved all the harder, objectivity and separation of ranks be damned. 

"Cool. Wanna celebrate?" Ray asked. 

"Not in a public park, Ray," Brad said. "That might be acceptable in the execrable hellhole you were spawned in, but not in civilized locations."

"I meant a nice lunch, but sure, go ahead. Assume the worst of me. I'm used to it. It's not like I'm a decorated war hero." 

"I'm not questioning your valor, Master Corporal. I'm questioning your common sense and discretion."

'I'm questioning if I want to be stuck on a ship with the two of you," Nate said. Who knew what the notoriously uptight fleeties would make of them. That included Nate himself; any sense of propriety he'd ever possessed had died while huddling for warmth in a gagh-breeding cave, if not before then. Well, if they wanted him, they'd get him, human-shaped warts and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then crazy space stuff happens, including flashbacks to them huddling for warmth in a cave full of Klingon dinner worms, and possibly a digression into canon Andorian group marriage customs. I am trying so hard not to just throw this in with what I've temporarily named Captain Federation, and I'm not sure I want to succeed.


End file.
